


Bad Vibrations

by NemesisVII



Category: Durarara!!
Genre: Angel!Shiki, Antichrist!Izaya, Demon!Akabayashi, Good Omens AU, doesn't that go without saying tho
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-30
Updated: 2019-11-21
Packaged: 2020-11-07 20:55:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20823671
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NemesisVII/pseuds/NemesisVII
Summary: It just goes to show, if you want the world to end, you gotta do it yourself.





	1. Chapter 1

The Prince of Darkness, Destroyer of Worlds, Lord of Earth had ten little toes and rosy cheeks and a screwed up expression on his face that indicated that a fit of epic proportions was on its way, woe to those who might behold it. 

Akabayashi holds the basket delicately, like it might bite if he’s not careful.

“He certainly seems very…healthy,” Akabayashi says, at last. The Antichrist evaluates him with hazy eyes and clearly finds him wanting, his face screwing up further until he almost looks like the demonic creature he is.

“Indeed,” Screwshank says. Screwshank looked largely human, except for the huge lump of metal that stuck out of his head and glinted ominously in light of the park lights.

“And I’m supposed to…” Akabayashi gestures, largely, grandly.

“Take him to the proper hospital,” Screwshank says, clearly irritated, “and switch him with the child the diplomat’s wife is having. And then, the world will be ours.”

“Uh-huh.”

Screwshank frowns. “You know if, this is too difficult for you—”

“It’s not,” Akabayashi says, flipping the lid closed. It sets off a truly banshee-like wail from inside the basket. “Just. Well, feels like a bit soon is all.”

Screwshank stares. “It’s been over three millennia.”

“Oh, has it? Time really does fly.”

Screwshank continues to stare. “You’ve been stationed here for all three millennia.”

“And what a millennia it’s been. Don’t suppose you’ve been up here in the past decade or so, you should see what they’ve done with the place. Those maid cafes? Fantastic. A beautiful piece of work, if I do say so myself.”

Screwshank stares harder. It’s not everyday you get to meet your heroes and be utterly disappointed by them. “You’ve gone native.”

“Not really,” Akabayashi says.

“You have. You’re wearing a suit. And _sunglasses_.”

Akabayashi adjusts his sunglasses. “Well, you’ve got to make an effort to blend in. Not like the old days, evil has to be a bit more _subtle.”_

“Hm,” Screwshank says. “Don’t screw this up. It’s the last step in the Plan.”

“Yes,” Akabayashi agrees, clicking the keys to his car, “the Plan.”

Akabayashi considers the Plan the whole drive over. 

“Fucking _Plan_. I’ve never seen evidence of a _Plan._”

The Antichrist, Lord of All, continues to scream in the back seat of his car like he’s being murdered with a rusty saw.

Akabayashi turns on some soothing death metal.

The Antichrist screams louder.

Typical.

Akabayashi slams his foot on the gas, and the cars around him part like the Red Sea, and he speeds his way into downtown Tokyo like the demon he is, his car squealing to a stop in front of an art gallery with bare walls in the shady side of town.

He storms out of the car, heading for the front door, but remembers a public service ad he’s seen about leaving babies in cars and reluctantly grabs the Antichrist, still screaming, and brings it with him.

As he had hoped, there’s a light still on inside the building, even though it’s gone two, because across millennia one thing and one thing alone has been constant: Shiki’s work addiction.

Shiki frowns as Akabayashi walks in.

“Shiki,” Akabayashi says cheerfully. “I have a surprise for you!”

“Fuck off,” Shiki says, and his finger tips come up to his temples. “Didn’t I say I didn’t want to see you for another hundred years?

“Is that any way for an angel to talk?” Shiki frowns harder, and mixes in a bit of a scowl for variety. The basket gives a long plaintive howl. “Besides, that was three years ago, and honestly I think that’s close enough, if you round up. And I think you might be interested in what I have to say. Take a look at this.”

Akabayashi opens the basket with a flourish.

“A baby,” Shiki says, unimpressed. “Wow. Never seen one of those. I think there are several thousand being born these days?” He pauses. “Don’t tell me you—”

“This isn’t a normal baby,” Akabayashi says darkly, before Shiki can accuse him of kidnapping. Which, technically, he might be. “This one is—”

“The Antichrist,” Shiki breathes, because he’s too clever by half. He reaches in and scoops up the Antichrist, who immediately stops screeching and starts to coo like Shiki’s the best thing he’s seen in the world. Maybe he is, couldn’t have been a picnic being born in hell. Or however he came into being. Hatched, maybe. “Shouldn’t you be delivering this to his parents then?”

“I rather thought,” Akabayashi says tentatively, beginning to suspect that maybe his plan will not be as well received as he initially thought,“that you’d be against that, seeing as it’s, the first step in, you know, my side’s dastardly Plan.”

“No, no, it’s all as it should be,” Shiki says, placing the Antichrist back in his basket. “It’s part of the Ineffable Plan.”

“But, the world would end,” Akabayashi says, a whine in his voice that he didn’t give permission to be there. “All the sushi joints. All the katanas. All the crime syndicates—”

A look of pure, clean Peace comes over Shiki’s face, washing away centuries of stresslines and shadows, and for a few moments, he actually does look Angelic.

“Yes,” he says simply, voice full of Peace and Love and Understanding and all those things that angels are supposed to be but that Shiki isn’t.

“Well, that makes this awkward,” Akabayashi says, sidling closer to the basket, “because I was rather hoping you would help me, ahh, send him home faster. If you catch my drift.”

Shiki’s eyes dart to the basket and then back, his lips curling ever so-slightly. He’s got a look in his eyes that reminds Akabayashi of what Shiki _really_ is, and that that Something is terrifying and armed with a sword, and not limited by human ethics or morality or physics. Not that Shiki has made a point to be limited by those things in his human form. But, still.

“_No_.”

Well, there goes that plan. Shiki could break his spine over his knee and not break a sweat. Akabayashi’s more of a lover than a fighter, really. Well, comparatively.

“The antichrist will grow up, unimpeded,” Shiki continues, almost growling, “and when the time comes, he will destroy the world, and the Ineffable Plan will have reached it’s long, _long _conclusion and we will—”

“We will _what_?” Akabayashi demands, “curl up in that bland office cubicle you call Heavens and pretend you’re happy? Is that what you really want? To live forever and ever without anything interesting ever going to happen? Actually, screw interesting, without _anything _going to happen?”

“It will be as it should,” Shiki says, with a tone of finality. “Now, you really ought to get the Antichrist to his foster parents. Before Management catches wind of what you’re up to and comes down with unholy wrath.” _Or before I do, _goes unspoken.

“Fine,” Akabayashi says, grabbing the basket. It stays mercifully quiet. But then something occurs to him. And before he can really stop it he’s saying: “but what if the Antichrist doesn’t _want _to end the world?”

“What?”

“Well, think about it,” Akabayashi continues, “he’s gonna be living in the human world, with humans. Maybe he’ll grow up to love humans and _not _want the world to die. Maybe he really likes tuna, or whatever. We don’t got that in hell. Eternity’s a damn long time to go without your favorite food.”

Shiki gives him a long, long look. “You are not going to influence the Antichrist to good just so you can keep your damn sushi shops.”

“Oh yeah? And how’re you going to stop me?”


	2. Chapter 2

If the Oriharas are in anyway phased that a man in a white suit returns their bundle of joy, they don’t mention it.

Shiki locks the door behind him. It would be highly inconvenient for another baby to show up at this juncture, and infanticide is not on his to-do list today.

The woman on the bed looks tired and careworn, but perks up when Shiki walks in, extending her arms. The man on the stool doesn’t look up from his phone.

“Is that my baby?” she says, “I want to hold my baby.”

Shiki hands over the antichrist and she folds him into her arms like she’s never held anything more precious.

The antichrist stirs but doesn’t wake up, instead snuggling into her chest and yawning.

“He’s so little,” she coos, flicking at a small nose with a well-manicured finger.

Behind Shiki, the door rattles. There’s a nurse out there with the proper baby, and it would take a miracle to get them to move on, to forget where the baby goes and perhaps put them up for adoption with a couple that just can’t wait to have their own bundle of joy.

Good thing Miracles are an angel’s business.

“Do you have any names in mind?” Shiki asks, as the pounding on the door tapers off and disappears. The Oriharas don’t seem to notice. Shiki suspects the Oriharas wouldn’t notice a nuclear bomb going off right in front of them. It makes them the perfect candidates to raise the antichrist.

The diplomat’s wife looks down on her new bundle of joy and says: “I’ve always wanted a Kida in the family. It’s traditional, you know. That was my grandfather’s name.”

“That’s not really… suitable,” Shiki says, trying to be gentle and cajoling instead of imperious and commanding. He suspects he’s missing the mark a bit. “How about Damien?”

The woman frowns. “Now that’s just silly. He’d be the joke of all his friends. Damien. _Really_.”

The man in the corner suddenly looks up from his phone. “Izaya,” he says.

“Bless you.”

The man frowns. “Izaya is his name.”

“But, dearest, we agreed—”

“Izaya,” the man repeats, with a tone of finality. “Sorry, sweetheart, I really have to take this call.”

The man disappears out the door, barely pausing to undo the lock. He does not seem to find anything suspicious about this.

“Well then,” the woman says, bouncing the antichrist, “Izaya it is, I guess.”

“No one’s filled out the birth certificate yet,” Shiki tells her, “it doesn’t have to be.”

“No, no,” she says, tracing Izaya’s cheek with a finger, but she’s frowning, “Izaya is fine. Really.”

Izaya, King of Darkness and Destroyer of worlds, starts to cry.

If the Oriharas are in anyway phased that a women in a white suit shows up to be their nanny, they don’t mention it.

“Oh, thank goodness,” the mother says. Hair is flying out of a messy ponytail, days old makeup is smudged around her eyes. In her arms, a cranky Izaya throws out little fists in a small rebellion of existence. “I haven’t slept in three days.”

“Do you want to see my references?” Shiki says, because he spent five hours rewording ’saved orphans in a burning building in Russia in 1918’ into ‘active proponent of children’s safety’ and ’General of the Heavenly Host, slayer of The Hordes of the Destroyer, may he rot in hell’ into ‘experienced babysitter.’

“No, no, I’m sure they’re fantastic.”

Mrs. Orihara shoves Izaya into Shiki’s arms without much fanfare and quietly wanders off, presumably to go collapse face first in a pile of whatever’s soft and horizontal. Izaya immediately quiets and reaches up to try and tug on Shiki’s nose, but instead slaps him in the mouth with hands that smell like sour milk.

For a moment, Shiki wonders what he’s gotten himself into. Childcare had never exactly been his area of expertise, and he’s mostly managed to avoid it, bar those few times Akabayashi had thoughtlessly “adopted” a stray and then needed someone to actually feed and clothe it.

But he thinks of the End Times and steals himself, tickling Izaya’s little belly with a finger in the name of the Ineffable Plan.

The doorbell rings.

Shiki ignores it.

The doorbell rings again.

Shiki ignores it. Izaya attempts to eat his foot.

The doorbell rings.

Shiki considers sending a flaming sword to chase them off.

The doorbell rings. Izaya makes an unhappy noise that is liable to turn into a screeching fit if he doesn’t get what he wants.

Shiki scoops Izaya up and walks him to the door. He’s not sure entirely how human babies are supposed to develop, but he’s pretty sure they’re supposed to be useless sacks of flesh for the first few months. They’re certainly not supposed to be peering about curiously at a few weeks old.

But then again, he isn’t exactly human, so perhaps a bit of preciousness is to be expected. He _is_ supposed to start his World Conquest at thirteen. Not much time to develop and grow, when you think about it.

The doorbell rings again, and Shiki rips open the door.

On the doorstep stands Akabayashi, hair done up under a little hat, one eye peering out from half-spectacles, and wearing a dress straight out of Mary Poppins.

“Hello,” Akabyashi starts cheerily, a psychotic smile on his face that was quite evidently meant to be charming. It falls off his face as soon as he sees Shiki.

“_You,_” he says accusingly. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m the nanny,” Shiki says mildly, bouncing Izaya. Izaya burps in agreement.

Akabayashi splutters, but it dissolves into laughing. “_You? _Nurturing? I know he’s the antichrist, but _come on. _You don’t care about anything. How are you gonna raise a kid? They require things like _empathy _you know.”

Shiki stiffens. “I’m doing _just fine.”_

“Uh-huh,” Akabayashi says, leaning against the doorframe. “Now he’s gonna grow up evil _and _emotionally constipated. I’m sure that’s _exactly _what Big S had in mind.”

“‘Big S?’ Do you mean— never mind. Don’t you have anywhere else to be?”

“Well, actually—”

Shiki slams the door. Izaya cries a protest, but is bounced gently back into a good mood.


End file.
